


In Case God Doesn't Show

by sweatersandspook



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Catholic school boy, Desolation Row, M/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:47:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweatersandspook/pseuds/sweatersandspook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz is a normal kid just drifting through Catholic high school with his friends when one day they all plan to go to their first concert together for a band none of them had ever heard of or cared about, but when Pete locks eyes with the mysterious bassist, suddenly he thinks he has a new favorite band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> God I'm such Petekey trash shoot me  
> Warning: later there's going to be a lot of fluff and angst so if your little heart can't take it I suggest reading some smut (which this fic will not have, I'm sorry)

I stared at the ceiling as the fragments of the morning sun peeked through my bedroom window. Although I didn't have to get ready for another hour or so, I was wide awake, creating pictures from the cracks above me. _Fuck,_ I thought. _I forgot to sleep again._ I sighed and retreated deeper into the sheets, wishing I could stay there forever without consequence. No distractions, no responsibilities; just me, the bed, and the early morning sun. 

I lay there for a while longer before willing myself to get up and stay standing. I looked out the window at the sunrise on the horizon. It was so beautiful. The world was so peaceful. Quiet. There was nothing to worry about, only the sun slowly awakening to wish me good morning as it kissed my face with its warm rays. 

I groaned as the invisible cinderblocks on my feet weighed down each step from my bed to the dresser for my school clothes, and it was by nothing short of a miracle that I managed to fully dress. I made my way to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Staring back was a tan face framed by jet black hair that fell over my light brown eyes. I straightened as I fixed my blue tie around my white dress shirt collar and slipped on my navy blazer. Let's face it: I looked like an idiot, but with Catholic school you don't have much choice clothing-wise. I stared my reflection in the eyes looking for something, anything, that I actually liked. Finding nothing, I scowled and trudged downstairs for a cup of coffee or two (or three). The morning was still quiet, so I sat at the table and closed my eyes, hands around my mug. It was so relaxing, being up early. It was a completely different world than the busier midday; nothing was going to bother me, at least for the time being. I could just be still for my own private eternity before-

"Pete!" My mother exclaimed. "You're up so early, wow!"

"Yeah, Ma, you don't have wake me up for once." I half-smiled at her and she chuckled in response.

"Well, thank God for that. Have you made the coffee?" I nodded and she smiled before opening the cupboard for a mug. I took another sip of black brew and checked the time, mentally counting the minutes before the bus arrived. 

-

I'll be honest here, the bus fucking sucks. As a senior of 17, I should be driving my own car to school, but unfortunately I possess neither car nor a licence, and my mom worked early on weekdays, so unfortunately the bus was the only option. It's an animal house on wheels; the minute you step on, a wave of noise washes over you and suddenly you're in fight-or-flight mode, avoiding flying trash and keeping your head down so you don't look like fresh meat. Everyday I step into this animal house amd wonder whether today will be the day I get ripped to confetti and devoured by the hyenas. That day is coming, no doubt, but so far I've been okay.

I slid into the seat next to Joe, a comedian with massive hair, piercing blue eyes and a habit of being pushed against and shoved into lockers, and Andy, a bookworm with a soft voice that doodled all over his body during class (which the Sisters hated with a burning passion; he'd show up to weekly Mass with dragons on his arms and FUCK across his knuckles in thick black Sharpie.)

"Wentz!" Joe greeted, smirking. "Glad you could join us without your earphones for once."

"Yeah, well, better music making my ears bleed than you asshats." I half-grinned back. "So Andy, got any new doodle ideas?"

"Oh, yeah!" He chirped, marking the page in his book. You could tell how much he loved talking about his Sharpie tattoos by the way his eyes lit up and how he went on without much pause. Seeing someone go on and on about something special to them is one of the few things that makes me break out in a full-smile recently; it's beautiful how someone could find something so important and close to their heart that they needed to share it with another person unless they'd burst, and being that other person makes me feel so honored. 

Before Andy could finish his ideas, Patrick arrived and asked what we were discussing, thus leading to a complete recap from Andy before continuing. Patrick was a short redhead with an incredible voice; he was always the leader in choir because the Penguins were convinced that God Himself sent an angel down from Heaven to bless Patrick with the singing ability he had. Whenever he's down I try to remind him this but he usually retorts by bringing up the fact that I was excused from choir for screaming instead of singing during warmup, then we'd laugh because I don't regret it and the look on Sister MacGoven's face was priceless. 

After the full-scale Andy geek out (which was full of awesome ideas), I piped up, "Hey Joe, you got the tickets?"

"Of course I do, have I ever let you guys down?" Before we could chime in with the stories about when Joe has, indeed, let us down, he opened his backpack and produced four crisp concert tickets.

"Awesome," Patrick grinned, then raised his eyebrows. "So we're really going then?"

"Of course," assured Joe. "This concert is supposed to be amazing and it's at a theatre within walking distance from my house and I could afford tickets for once; well, with the help of you shitbags."

"Oh, like we're the shitbags," joked Patrick. 

"Yeah I know I'm a shitbag," said Joe. "I just take pride in my shitbaggery, you guys don't know you're shitbags."

"All right," I interrupted. "So who's the band?"

"I dunno," shrugged Joe. "But a concert's a concert and I can afford it. Sounds good enough to me."

"Okay, so we're meeting at your place aroune 8?" He nodded and Andy grinned, excited. 

"Eh, I don't know about this, shady concerts aren't really the best for guys like us." Patrick said uncertainly. 

"No way, man," I grinned. "One night could change it all."


	2. The Porcelain Bassist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be some special apperances in this chapter, so prepare yourself.

Although I was constantly begging for the bell to ring and falling asleep during class, I managed to trudge through the day and got a solid three hours before heading to Joe's house to meet for the concert. As I strolled under the glow of the streetlamps, my fingers traced over the ticket in my hoodie pocket, nervous but excited for my first concert. The fact that it was for a band none of us knew was kind of off-putting, but it was at a theatre, how bad could it be? 

When I arrived at Joe's house, I knocked and instead of a mess of frizzy brown hair answering the door, what opened the door were arms covered in Sharpie art.

"Hey, Andy," I said.

"Hey, glad you're here, we could use your help waking Joe- Patrick doesn't wanna be rude and I have no idea where to start."

"Don't worry, I got this," I passed through the door and started towards the stairs, shouting "JOSEPH TROHMAN YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED BEFORE I SHAVE YOUR HEAD AND CALL YOUR MOM."

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE," called a muffled voice underneath a sea of sheets. 

"TRY ME, SHITBAG, I'VE GOT A RAZOR RIGHT HERE AND YOUR MOM'S ON SPEED DIAL IN CASE I EVER NEED A FUCK."  
Finally, a groggy Joe rolled out of bed and stood up.

"You're a real shitbag, you know that?" He stared me right in the eye and we stood there, fist clenched, standing our ground until we both exploded into fits of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, you're both assholes," laughed Patrick. "Can we go now?"

-

When we arrived at the theatre, a huge mob was in front, yelling and fighting because of the sign on the ticket booth window: SOLD OUT. We cautiously pushed through the crowd and approached the double wood doors. We produced our tickets as the usher raised his eyebrow, then allowed us to enter. Inside was a mob bigger than the one in front, but this one was full of people enjoying themselves instead of killing each other. As we got closer to the stage, I craned my neck to see the band but to no avail- unfortunately, I stopped growing at about 14. Suddenly, Andy yelled above the noise that he found a spot where we all could see and lead the way. The view was perfect; there was almost nobody in front of us, we could hear the band okay, and everything was great.

Until I saw him.

He stood onstage with a black and white bass, his long, dirty blone hair slicked back out of his porcelain face, which contrasted to the black leather jacket and t-shirt. His pink lips were slightly parted as he played and nodded to the beat and his knees pointed at an awkwardly inverted angle, the toes of his dirty Converse touching. Who was this guy? Why was I staring at him? More importantly, is he looking back at me? Time slowed down as his smouldering hazel eyes met mine, then the corners of his mouth curled into a smile as he winked. Taken aback, I flushed and grinned back before I felt a fist connect with the corner of my eye.

"Shit!" I heard Joe yell. "The fuck did you do that for?"

"He wasn't moving, so I made him move," replied a gruff voice, strangely nonchalantly. 

"You didn't have to fucking do that!" I looked up as I slightly recovered from the shock to see Joe shoving back a beefy guy with a black beard and a leather vest.

"Maybe I did, Mama's boy," the guy spit, seconds before Joe swung.

The fight was intense, full of angry grunts and flying fists, and although slightly shortlived it was clear who won. When security showed up, Joe had the guy pinned to the ground, his fist in the air. Before it could land, we were thrown out the back door by our collars. Unlike the front, there was nobody behind the theatre, giving Joe space and time to calm down. 

"Fuck, guys, I'm sorry," he sighed after a few deep breaths. "This concert was supposed to be awesome and I fucked it up." We were all quiet as he put his head in his hands.

"Well," Andy said softly, interrupting the awkward silence. "It was pretty fun watching you beat the shit out of that biker."

"Yeah," I laughed. "And it was fucking awesome how you didn't let that guy get away with being a dick to me, thanks."

Joe grinned. "No problem, always happy to help a damsel in distress."

"He doesn't look much like a princess with that black eye, holy smokes," giggled Patrick.

"What are you talking about? I'm the prettiest princess in the land, the mirror said so," I scoffed and posed like a diva. "Peasant." We all laughed and everything was all right; nobody was mad or injured, just a few cuts and bruises on Joe, my black eye, and a swollen lip from when Patrick was caught in the crossfire. After the laughter died down, Patrick sighed.

"I should get home, my mom's gonna need some explaining about my lip and maybe she won't flip as much if I'm back early."

"Yeah," agreed Andy. "I should go, too." Joe nodded and turned to me. 

"You coming?" he asked.

"Nah, my curfew's not for another hour tonight, I think I'd like to take advantage of it."

"All right, well, don't get mugged or anything, Princess," he joked.

"I'll try not to," I half-grinned. "Later, dickheads." They all turned and walked away, leaving me alone under the streetlight. I sat on the sidewalk and pulled my phone and earbuds from my pocket, about to hit play when the door to the theatre swung open. I turned and saw the porcelain bassist with a concerned look on his face, walking towards me.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a dry voice. "I saw what happened and I just wanted to make sure…"

"Oh," I blinked and looked up at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, thanks for the concern."

"Are you sure? He clocked you pretty hard and that's a hell of a black eye you've got there."

I half-grinned. "Yeah, don't worry about me, I'm tough as fuck!" I mock-growled, which would've passed for intimidating if my voice hadn't cracked on "fuck".  
He stifled a giggle.

"Great. So, Mr. Tough As Fuck," he began, sitting next to me. "Why'd that guy try to knock you out?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "He said I wasn't moving so he felt obligated to make me move."

"So you were just standing there, minding your own business when this asshole comes up to you and feels the need to punch your eye out?"

"Pretty much," I nodded.

"And then they threw _you_ out?" He shook his head in disbelief. "That's fucking bullshit."

"Yeah, but there's nothing I can do about it, those security guards were fucking huge and look at me-" I stood up and he looked up at me. "I'm so short people ask me if I sold any Boy Scout popcorn this year." He thought for a minute. 

"Maybe I can fix that," he said, standing up (way taller than me). "Well, not the short part, but the part about the security guards. Follow me." I accompanied him to, surprisingly, the front of the theatre. The mob saw him and immediately parted as he lead me to the double wood doors. 

"Ticket," the usher said, bored.

"Do I need a ticket?" The bassist tilted his head, confused. 

"Yeah, kid, if you don't have a ticket you should get lost."

"Huh, that's funny…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright orange lanyard with a card inside labelled BAND. "…because I didn't need a ticket earlier when I got this." 

The usher's eyes widened. "R-right, of course," he stepped aside as the bassist sauntered in, then put his arm in my way. "Not you." 

"He's with me," called the porcelain bassist. "Leave him alone." For the second time that night, I entered the theatre through the wood double doors, but this time a little less nervously. The bassist stopped walking suddenly and turned around to face me. 

"What's your name, again? If I'm going to let somebody in without a ticket I might as well know their name."

"Pete," I answered. "Pete Wentz. What's yours?"

"Mikey Way, nice to meet you, Pete." He smiled and there was a weird flutter in my chest. "Okay, you're good with sitting onstage, right?" I nodded. "Good, we're gonna have a great time, I can tell."

"Yeah," I agreed. He turned and continued leading me to the stage. We climbed the steps and he escorted me backstage before going out and whispering something to the lead singer.

"All right," announced the singer into the microphone. "We're gonna take a little break from all the acoustic stuff, when we get back we're gonna rock, got it?" The crowd cheered and he grinned and walked backstage, the guitarists following him. 

"So Mikes," said the singer. "Who's your friend?" 

"This is Pete, he was unfairly kicked out after getting punched in the face. It's cool if he stays up here, right?" Mikey blinked, hope in his eyes. The lead singer looked back at the guitarists, who shrugged. 

"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'm Gerard, Mikey's brother. This is Ray-" he pointed at the guitarist with an afro the size of Montana. "-and Frank." The shorter guitarist grinned.

"Before you ask questions, yes, I'm a little young to be in a band, yes, I'm aware that I'm short, and no, I don't have a bedtime." 

I blinked. "Dude, who asks you if you have a bedtime?"

"You'd be surprised," he said. 

" _Everyone_ ," mouthed Ray, making me chuckle.

"Well, Pete," Gerard said warmly. "Welcome to the stage."


	3. Jackets and Notecards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a couple things:  
> 1) The way I describe him you might think I'M the one that's gay for Mikey holy shit  
> 2) Keep in mind that Pete has never, not once, been exposed to homosexuality. He's got no clue about it. None. This is why he's got no clue what he's feeling for this other guy. See, his entire life he's learned that men like women and vice versa, but he's gone to an all-boys school his entire life so he doesn't usually interact with females, so how could he know? He couldn't, that's how. Boom, motherfucker. Bombshell.  
> 3) hOnEy nUt fEeLiOs YuM yUM  
> 4) Sorry this chapter's kinda short, there's more on the way I promise it's just that school just started and ughhhhh shoot me homework

The concert ended with Frank, the short guitarist, dropping his guitar and leaping into the arms of the crowd, surfing on his back. Later he said his butt was groped a lot and he lost his watch, but needless to say it was fucking awesome.

After their fans left, I hung out with the band and got to know them a little better. Gerard was a fresh art school graduate and a total comic book nerd. Ray also went to college but for film and people sometimes called him the "Torosaurus" on account of his last name. Frank's guitar was named Pansy and the scorpion tattoo on his neck had uneven legs, whoops. And Mikey. He was the most interesting person I'd ever met and listening to him talk painted a smile on my face. It didn't even have to be something most people would find interesting, like how he's my age and goes to school but is still in a band, it's just Mikey Way's voice and his thoughts out loud were amazing to me. It could be the fact that he's the one that found me outside, but he's the quiet one of the group; while someone else is talking (usually Gerard, no offense to the guy he's great but jeez), he's listening intently, like he genuinely cares what that person is saying even if it's the dumbest shit ever. If there was one thing I knew for certain about him, it's that Mikey Way is an excellent listener.

The group left the theatre laughing at a story I was telling about a dare that I had to go through with because I was the loser of a stupid bet.

"So, you're telling me," gasped Frank between giggles. "That that guy actually gave you a dollar?"

"Yeah! I guess he can sympathize with guys whose families were killed by ninjas." Another wave of laughter erupted from the group and Gerard asked, "So how much money did you end up getting?"

"Not enough for Kung Fu lessons, that's for sure." By this time, Mikey was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe and he slumped against the brick wall of an alley for support. Making him laugh sent vibrations through my arms and legs and through my fingertips and toes, and seeing him holding his stomach with a porcelain-skinned hand lifted my chest and curled my lips into a grin. 

After the laughter finally died down, Ray checked the time.

"Maybe you should be getting home," he suggested. 

"Yeah…I mean, I broke curfew like an hour ago so my mom's gonna be pissed already, but I can't just stay out all night, you know?" Mikey nodded understandably, then thought for a moment.

"How far away from here do you live?" he asked. 

"A couple of blocks, I think," I answered. 

"Hm…I better walk you home, you're a little kid and we don't want you getting mugged on the way home."

"We're literally the same age," I said matter-of-factly. "But all right, if you want to. I'm not stopping you." 

"Awesome, let's go." He stuck his elbow out at me and I furrowed my brow, confused. "Here," he said, taking my arm and linking it with his at the elbow. The other guys in the band bade us farewell as we parted ways, and Mikey and I walked in silence down the street. The leather sleeve of his jacket was cool on my bare skin; I had accidentally left my hoodie backstage but I didn't want to retrieve it and break curfew further, despite the biting chill of the October night. I pressed closer to Mikey and as if he read my mind, Mikey turned to me and asked, "Are you cold?"

"Uh, well, k-kinda," I stuttered, shivering slightly. 

"Here," he let go of my arm and slid off his jacket before slipping it over my shoulders, warming me at the touch. 

"Thanks," I half-grinned, linking our arms again. We walked in comfortable silence, as if we were old friends who knew each other so well that silence was all we needed. 

After enjoying each other's company and silence for not nearly long enough, we arrived at my door. 

"Well," began Mikey. "Here we are."

"Yeah," I half-grinned and looked up into his dazzling hazel eyes. "Will I get to see you again anytime soon?"

"Well, do you have a phone?" I nodded and took it out of my pocket to show him. 

"Okay, uhh…" He dug around in his pockets before producing a crumpled notecard with a phone number on it. "This is my number. You can call anytime you want." He handed me the card and smiled before squinting a little. 

"Oh, uh, you've got an eyelash on your cheek…here, let me." He leaned in and brushed it away with his thumb, my cheek cupped in his gentle hand. He looked at my slightly parted lips and smiled a little. 

"Got it," he said softly. Gingerly, he leaned in a little closer until our faces were only inches apart. An inch. Half an inch. A fourth. We were so close and I felt as if we were the only two people in the universe, like nothing else mattered as his face was so close to mine.

Suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened a little before looking down at his feet as he dropped his hand and stepped away.

"I should go," he murmured. "It was nice meeting you, Pete. Call anytime you want." He turned and shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the sidewalk, away from my front door. I watched him go in wonder and confusion- what had just happened? I exhaled in disbelief before slowly opening the door, careful not to make much noise. 

I peeked in to see my mother sitting in her special armchair with a mug in her hands.

"You're late," she stated curtly. 

"Yeah, sorry, the concert ran a little longer than we thought." She continued staring at me quietly and I shifted my weight uncomfortably. 

"Who were you just with?" Her eyes were cold and her expression was set; she was pissed as fuck.

"Just a friend, Ma, don't worry about it." She pursed her lips and squinted, hardening her expression even further, but still she motioned for me to go upstairs.

"We'll talk about this in the morning. For now, you need to sleep." I nodded and trudged to my room, only realizing after laying in bed for a while that the jacket I was wearing wasn't mine.

_Well,_ I thought. _At least I have an excuse to see him again._


	4. Jet Black Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been updated in so long holy shit I'm so sorry but I had school and just this feeling in my chest that made me not wanna do anything, let alone write fanfics, but I'm back and yay cute dates and a jet black crow because I'm a slur for Twin Skeltons and Mikey with round glasses (like in that one old pic of him as a fetus in high school, you know, with the turtleneck) but Desolation Row hair and a sweater 
> 
> Also: They're so fucking gay for each other oh my god why can't they just realize it ughhhh

The next morning, I was a wreck. First, I slept until noon before dragging myself out of bed and into some clothes before going into the living room to read. Every once in a while I checked the time to decide whether or not it was appropriate to call Mikey. For some reason, I was nervous to do it despite the wave of giddiness that washed over me when I talked to him. I guess I just thought it'd be a little weird, considering we'd only met less than 18 hours before and I didn't wanna seem desperate for friendship, so I waited. And waited. I watched the minutes tick by on the grandfather clock next to my mother's armchair and decided that it'd be easier if I just took a nap to get my mind off things, but I couldn't help thinking. Does Mikey want to see me again? What if he thought I was annoying him, acting like a splinter under his skin that was impossible to remove? Was he disgusted with me? What if...

 _No,_ I told myself. _Get a hold of yourself, Wentz, it's fine. Think of something better._ To calm myself, I imagined what his house would look like and decided it would look like him: warm, fair, but full of mystery. His room would be a mess with posters everywhere and random knick knacks littering the floor, but his bed would have something nerdy on the sheets like superheroes or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles which he'd defend by explaining why they're fucking awesome and how it's perfectly normal for a 17-year-old to have them as sheets, shut up. 

I fell asleep smiling to myself and when I awoke it was 6 at night. Although I was still slightly nervous to call, I punched in the numbers on the notecard from the night before and took a deep breath.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the line was deep and dry, possibly groggy.

"Hey, it's Pete Wentz, is M-"

"Pete!" the voice exclaimed, interrupting me. "Man, I didn't think you'd call, what's up?"

"Mikey? Dude, you sound way different over the phone." He chuckled, sending a buzz through my fingers. Although I couldn't see him, I remembered the light of his smile from the night before and my face warmed. 

"Is that good or bad, Wentz?" he asked. I sputtered, not knowing what to say until he interrupted me with another chuckle.

"All right, I get it, neither," I could almost see one of his eyebrows rise above the other in amusement. "So when do you think we'll be able to hang out again?" 

"Well, when do you want to?" We discussed the details of where and when, running through the different possibilities and hitting a few dead ends before agreeing: the park at 2 pm.

"Oh, and bring my jacket, okay?" He added, laughing a little. 

"You got it, but I'm totally wearing it all the way there- that thing is so fucking warm."

"Yeah, I know," I could hear him smiling. "I'll see you later, Pete, it was nice talking to you. You're really funny, yknow. All right, bye." He hung up, leaving me grinning like an idiot; I was going to see him tomorrow at the park and he didn't care that I wore his jacket even though it was a size too big on me. He didn't care, he wanted me to be warm. Little did he know I didn't need a jacket to keep me warm, just his smile.

-

The following day, I was so excited to see Mikey that I wore his jacket to church instead of my usual blazer so I wouldn't forget it. My mom wasn't the happiest about it but, after some begging, begrudgingly allowed it. The jacket just made me feel safe, like it was bulletproof and the titanium was Mikey's scent. I got a few stares, but the sweet old ladies still tried to give me candy because I was "too skinny, a big wind could sweep you away! Whoosh!" Finally, when church was over, my mom and I parted ways and as I walked to the park a wave of nervousness washed over me. What if he didn't show up? What if this was all fake and I'd just be sitting at a bench all alone, waiting for someone who wasn't coming? But then I remembered that a) this was Mikey and b) I had his jacket, there's now way he'd just leave a good jacket. I brushed off any other thoughts of uncertainty because dammit, I was going to see Mikey Way at the park and no stupid ideas were going to change that.

As I arrived at the park I saw Mikey on a bench with half a bag of bread, an army of small birds at his feet, a gray sweater, and a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. I smirked and proceeded towards him, making a point of straightening my back to look taller and wearing the leather jacket like I owned it. He tossed another crumb to the birds before noticing me approach; when he did, his chaste face breaking into a huge grin as he made room for me on the bench.

"Hey, Pete," he greeted warmly as I slid next to him. "Care to feed some hungry birds?"

"Sure," I grinned. "Jeez, Mikey, at this rate you could raise an army of birds to fight for you."

"Damn right," he laughed. "I am the almighty Bird King! You peasants may kneel before me." I laughed and took a slight bow.

When the laughter died down, I asked, "So...what's up with the glasses?"

"Oh." He looked down, embarrassed, then took the glasses off to polish them on his shirt. "I kinda fell asleep in my contacts last night and Gerard wouldn't let me leave until I could, yknow, _see._ Hope you don't mind." He shrugged a little and placed them back on his nose.

"'Course not," I assured him. "They look nice on you, and sight _is_ kinda vital to most people unless they can do, like, echolocation or some shit. Can you do echolocation?" He shook his head, trying to stifle a smile. "Then I'm afraid glasses are the only option." 

"I could learn it, though," he said. Mikey flicked up an eyebrow in amusement before closing his eyes and making a series of clicks while waving his hands out in front of him. Somehow, his hands made their way over to me and ended up poking me in the stomach, causing a high pitched giggle to escape. He opened his eyes and I caught a glint of mischief in his eyes as a sly grin spread across his face. 

"You're ticklish?" I nodded, flushing slightly. "Oh, I'm definitely using that to my advantage sometime." He scrunched up his nose momentarily in a mischievous smirk and I fake-pouted.

"Dumb fucking ticklishness," I cursed under my breath.

"Better look out for yourself, I have a friend called the Tickle Monster and I heard you're on his list," Mikey teased and I laughed. 

"We're toddlers," I told him. "Swearing toddlers, but still, toddlers." He grinned then reached into the bag to throw another bread crumb before frowning slightly.

"Shit, I'm out of bread," he sighed. "What a shame, a crow just flew up, too." I looked at him, puzzled. 

"But aren't crows bad?" I asked.

"No, not really. I mean, sure, they make loud noises and eat farmers' crops, but all birds are beautiful, even crows and vultures." I tilted my head at him.

"But vultures dig into carcasses..."

"Well, yeah, that's their food, and they're actually considered incredibly clean," he mused. "They're bald because, well, if they're always sticking their faces into dead animals with blood and guts, it'd be good to not have much plumage on their face, yknow?"

I blinked before my lips curled into a smile. "...you've thought about this before, haven't you, Mikey?" He pushed his falling glasses up on the tip of his nose.

"Of course I have," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm the president of the Crow and Vulture Appreciation Club, why wouldn't I?"

"Mikey," I shook my head, laughing. "You're one big fucking nerd."

"I know." He smiled and stood up from the bench, then offered his hand to me. "Let's walk," he said as I took it. His hand lingered in mine for a few seconds after I stood, then let it go as we strolled out of the park. I missed the contact instantly, but shrugged it off, it was no big deal. As we entered the sidewalk, Mikey suggested we go to the café for- surprise, surprise -coffee, which we were both disappointingly dependent on. After suggesting this and going on about they had the best coffee in town at this café, I told him he was a nerd again.

"Is that so?" He looked at me, smiling and raising an eyebrow. I nodded and stuck my chin out.

"It's 100% certain, sorry," I said.

"Well, I have a friend..." he paused and began to raise his hand up slowly. "...who wouldn't like that much..." By now, his hand was slightly above his head. "...and his name is... _The Tickle Monster!_ " His hand swooped down and began moving his fingers all around my belly, making me squeal in laughter as he pushed me against the brick wall of an alley.

"Stop! Stop!" I shouted between giggles.

"Not until you say I'm not a nerd," Mikey insisted.

"I said..." I grabbed his arms and spun him around, pinning him to the alley wall. " _Stop._ " His eyes widened in an expression that read, _oh, shit_ , and I looked up at him through heavy eyelids before beginning to lean in. A faint, uncertain smile crept across his face as I got closer. I could almost touch his nose with mine as his eyes were almost closed, but before they could shut I stopped and murmured, grinning mischievously,

"We should go." I let go of his arms and began strutting away, then turned back to see Mikey looking incredibly confused and contemplating his entire existence. "You coming?" I grinned again, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh..." he blinked, trying to comprehend what just happened. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." I waited as he took a few steps to catch up with me, and we continued walking. A few minutes later, when we entered the café, I leaned up and whispered in his ear,

"Does Mr. Tickle Monster mind your nerdiness now?"


End file.
